Crosslight - Edition April 2020

“
The water is dark and oily.
If those burning embers come (people
will) wade into the water under the
cover of blankets and prayer.
”
chance to leave. They don’t, but some
do.
Another message brings the impact
time forward to 7pm; there’s a growing
sense of alarm. They pack the trailer and
cars. Mid-afternoon, the directive comes
to get out now, to the beach or town hall.
They choose the beach and a convoy of
cars carrying children, pets and anxious
adults joins the hundreds of others in the
concrete carpark at the foreshore. They
wait, have dinner from a café and wait.
There’s nothing going on and people
sit quietly or sleep in cars. They wake to
a dawn that doesn’t happen, continued
blackness instead of creeping, seeping
light. The “any minute” message comes
through the phones as sirens begin and
cars empty fast. People take blankets for
shelter and head to the beach. The first
of many homes explodes, cracking the
air that’s humming like a thousand bees
in the approaching firestorm.
The water is dark and oily. If those
burning embers come, emissaries from
the evil mouth of devouring flame,
they’ll wade into the water, holding
the little ones high under the cover of
blankets and prayer.
What do you pray at a time like this?
The “God don’t let me die” prayer seems
a bit ridiculous near so much water, but
it begins silently then erupts aloud and
with it the shame that this might sound
like the distress of a doubter from the
mouth of a minister.
What do you pray at a time like this?
There’s a deeper knowing that the words
don’t matter, that the Spirit hears our
fears and prays for us, within us, around
us and over us. By this time too, so do
thousands of people, thanks to social
media.
Rowena is a prolific contributor
to social media, as are many on the
beach around her. With the posting
and the tweeting comes at least three
consequences; firstly, there is a global
invasion of interest in the unfolding
disaster impacting this coastal
community cut off by road, but blown
wide open online: secondly, if you
don’t post for an hour or four because
someone else has your phone people
think you have died and they don’t
forgive you easily, and thirdly, the
whisper of prayer emanating from the
epicentre of the chaos is magnified and
becomes a cry from the hearts and on
the lips of millions across the world.
All faiths and none. All languages and
silence. Praying to the God of many
names.
Birds are absent and the islands
are burning. By late afternoon it’s safe
to leave the beach and return home,
whatever that demands. Rowena and
the children drive along the intact row of
shops, crazy, as if nothing has happened.
Rounding the bend, the devastation
unfolds. One house burnt to the ground,
the next one standing, three down, two
up, one down, no rhyme or reason. They
arrive home to a singed but safe house,
light candles and drink juice from the
warming fridge. Sleep comes easy. It’s a
new year.
Back on the boat, Judy and Andy are
trying to work out whether to go back
or stay. They wait out New Year’s Eve,
tired, cranky and hungry for anything
but fruitcake. At 7am, they decide to see
what awaits them, certain that home will
be gone. Coming back, the air is still and
smoky, like a gentle morning fog with no
breeze. Mallacoota harbour is bathed in
an acrid burnt-everything smell. They
go to the church first. People are OK,
the church is OK, and the SU teams are
doing well.
By the numbers
1.25bn
Number of animals
who have DIED
Continued P16
15